


Songs of Crystal

by Maewn



Series: Dragonhearted [8]
Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Altmer Dovahkiin, F/M, Gen, bit of religion thrown in here, storytelling tradition
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-24
Updated: 2017-12-24
Packaged: 2019-02-19 15:58:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,104
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13127004
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maewn/pseuds/Maewn
Summary: Winter has come to Solitude, and a child learns more of her father's heritage.





	Songs of Crystal

Snow falls silently past the windows, piling into the growing snowdrifts that line the streets of Solitude.  A pair of guards struggle through the drifts up towards the Palace, torches flickering in the growing dark. Neria watches them for a moment before returning to her book. Ata had picked this particular novel up on his last trip to the Isles, and Neria hopes that the author continues the series; it’s quite entertaining.

She sets the book aside after some time and heads for the kitchen.

“How many of these are you making?” Jordis’s wry voice drifts out of the kitchen as Neria wanders in.

There is a cheerful, “As many as I can,” from Ata, followed by an amused snort from Alma.

Neria looks over in time to see Jordis giving her mother an incredulous look.

“Hey,” Alma says, raising one hand, leaving the other resting on the round curve of her stomach. “You try and stop him when he’s put his mind to something.”

Ata rolls his bright eyes, currently folding thin and delicate dough around a small ball of what Neria tentatively identifies as snowberry paste.

 _Oh._ He’s making _anar’tef_ , sun-drop cakes.

They’re an Altmer sweet cake, traditionally made during the three days before the Winter Solstice, a time of reflection and celebration of Auri-el’s gifts and blessings of the year.

Ata is faintly humming and Neria recognizes the tune as one often sung by Alma when _she_ cooks.

Alma smiles, leaning over the counter to kiss her husband’s cheek, her golden eyes fond. “I’ll leave you to your work, then. I’ll be in the living room if you need me.”

He nods, carefully inscribing something on the top of a completed cake with a wooden stylus and setting it aside.

“ _Juli san, Neria,”_ Alma says, smiling warmly.

“ _Juli san, Alma_ ,” Neria replies. “How are you feeling?”

“Tired,” Alma replies, “The baby kept me up again, so I’m going to attempt to take a nap in the other room.”

“There’s blankets and pillows on the couch, dear,” Ata says. “And the fire’s already started.”

“Have I mentioned that I love you?”

Ata chuckles. “Yes, dearest.”

“I love you very much and you’d best save some of those cakes for me,” Alma says, grinning.

“Of course. I cannot eat all of them myself.”

Neria sees her mother settled in the living room, making sure she’s comfortable before returning to the kitchen. Jordis excuses herself to make rounds as Neria enters again, sidling past her to head towards the foyer.

The _anar’tef,_ now that Neria has a closer look at them, have small sun-flower designs atop each one, a representation of devotion and faith, if Neria remembers correctly.

“Isn’t there a story that goes with the cakes?” Neria asks, taking a seat at the counter. She speaks in Altmeri; it seems only proper, given the ritual behind making the cakes and her own heritage.

“There is,” her father replies, smiling and answering in his mother tongue. Neria wishes she spoke it as easily as he does, warm syllables, sharp inflections, and the trilling vowels native to the area where Ata was born. Her mother’s language and the common tongue come more readily to her than the language of the high elves.

“Would you like to hear it?” he asks, rolling another circle of dough out and tucking it around a dark ball of paste.

“I would be honored,” Neria says.

Her father smiles, glancing up, the firelight lending a glow to his eyes.

 _“Once,”_ he says, etching a flower into the dough, _“there was a young maiden who lived in the Isles. She sang from a hill near the Crystal-Like-Law, and every day people would come to hear her sing of Auri-el, of His love for our people and His creation of the world. The maiden taught of peace and love for each other despite our differences._

_The priests of Auri-el heard of her singing and saw the number of parishioners that flocked to the maiden on the hill. They grew angry at her open praise and gentle teachings and sought to put an end to her hillside singing for they wished to spread their own message of Auri-el._

_Because they were figures of importance, so called holy men of Auri-el, they dared not sully their hands. So they hired men of violence to steal the maiden and lock her away. They would not kill her, because they feared that Auri-el might be angered with them, so they locked her in a cell underground where none might hear her voice again.”_

Neria’s father pauses, turning to levitate a tray of _anar’tef_ into the oven and shutting the door behind it before continuing as he rolls another ball of paste between his hands.

_“The maiden would not cease her song even as she sat in darkness far below the earth where the sun’s light could not reach. She sang of forgiveness and kindness, singing her praise to Auri-el and His Light._

_One day, long after she had been placed in her cell, the maiden heard a voice._

_‘Do you wish to be free, maiden?’_

_‘I do,’ the maiden replied, for she did long for the warmth of the sun and the growing grass beneath her feet._

_‘Why do you still sing praise to Auri-el? He has not delivered you from this cell.’_

_‘I believe that He will,’ the maiden replied. ‘He is Light and beauty and kindness. I believe I will be freed and I believe that He has not abandoned me to the darkness.’_

_The voice laughed softly. ‘Then be freed, O maiden.’_

_At once, the maiden found herself standing upon the grassy hill overlooking the Crystal-Like-Law, where the sun was slowly making its way above the horizon. She sang and danced with joy, weeping tears of happiness._

_And the people who had returned to the priests after she had vanished, came to her again and sang with her._

_The priests seeing this, grew even more angry._

_They waited and when the maiden was alone, stole her away again. But this time, the priests had the maiden blinded, her eyesight stolen from her fair face. She wept many days for her loss but the maiden did not lose hope, as her faith was her shield against her misfortune. She took comfort from the songs she would sing. By and by a voice came to her again, different this time._

_‘You sing praise, child of sunlight? Auri-el has not kept you from being thrown in the cell by those who would encourage division in your people. He has not kept your eyes from being gouged out. He has not heard your weeping and eased your pain. Why do you still sing praise to Him?”_

_‘He will free me for His Love and kindness is infinite,’ the maiden said, hands clasped in prayer before her. ‘I will be freed. I believe it. I have not been abandoned.’_

_Suddenly, she felt grass beneath her bare feet and the warmth of the sun against her skin. She had been freed._

_She sang her praise, joyously and twice as devoted as before. She had been freed from her captivity, though her eyes remained blind to the world. Her singing drew the people to her again._

_The priests grew even more angry and this time, when they threw her into the cell again, they took her tongue, so that she might not even sing in the darkness._

_The maiden cried many, many days. She would mouth the words of devotion as her wound healed, though it caused her pain to do so._

_A voice, different from the first two, came to her as she lay in the dark, blood still dripping from her grievous wound._

_‘And at last they have taken from you that which you hold dearest. Do you believe yourself abandoned now? Auri-el has not protected you from losing your voice. He has not shielded you from harm. Do you still believe?”_

_The maiden nodded, blood spilling down her chin._

_‘Then, daughter of sunlight,” the voice said, ‘Be healed.’_

_The maiden found her vision and tongue restored, and she sat not in a cell but on the hillside. And Auri-el stood before her, smiling._

_‘Be blessed, child. For you have withstood much pain and never lost faith,’ Auri-el said as the maiden knelt and bowed her head, crying tears of joy._

_‘Siltataarie, I name you, for you are bright and bring My words to the people. You will speak My truths and My word.’_

_The maiden, newly named Siltataarie, was so overcome with joy and happiness she could barely speak. But at last she said, ‘With all my heart, O Most Shining and Kind of Gods. Nothing would bring me more joy in life than to spread your Word.’_

_When she looked up again, Auri-el was gone and before her lay a sheet of crystal etched with golden writing.”_

Ata pauses again, removing the tray from the oven and placing another in its stead. He plucks the cooked cakes from the stone tray and sets them on a plate, pushing them to the side of the counter.

_“The priests, when they saw that the maiden had returned, and that her wounds were healed, were frightened and wouldn’t go anywhere near her. She sang on the hillside, praising Auri-el and His Love, drawing people to her._

_The maiden spoke the words the Auri-el had left and the people flocked to her to hear the Sun God’s teachings. These teachings remain the foundation of our faith._

_Siltataarie was the First Prophet that Auri-el gave to the Altmer and the Crystal Tablet Auri-el gave to her remains enshrined in the Spires built from the Crystal-Like-Law to this day,”_ Neria’s father says quietly.

_“The anar’tef are offerings, thanks to Auri-el for delivering her and giving her the Words to speak. We always burn six cakes; three for the wounds Siltataarie received and three more for each song that she sang after her rescue., burning two a day for the three days prior to the Solstice. The snowberries in the anar’tef represent courage and the struggle to keep faith in times of great strife. The dough and the flowers we etch upon it, represent unwavering determination and devotion._

_“This is the story of Siltataarie, as my mother told it to me, and her mother before her. It is an old tale, but I tell it to you, so that you might share it with your children and they with theirs,”_ Ata says, removing two cakes from the plate and resting them on a smaller saucer, sets them alight with a spark of fire magic.

The flames swallow the cakes, burning white-gold before they subside, leaving only ash and the sharp smell of snowberries behind. Ata closes his eyes briefly, bowing his head.

“Thank you for sharing it with me, Ata,” Neria says after a long moment of silence.

 _“_ It was my pleasure,” her father replies. He removes the offering plate, setting it aside to be washed later and grabs another plate. He adds three cakes to it, handing it to Neria.

“Give that to your mother, would you?”

Neria complies. “Alma,” she calls softly, peering into the next room, stifling a chuckle when she catches sight of her mother, fast asleep and snoring quietly.

“She’s asleep,” Neria whispers to her father, returning to the kitchen.

“The babe has wearied her these past few days. Tossing and turning,” he says, beckoning her back to the counter. “I fear this may be a difficult pregnancy, though all the signs say otherwise.”

“Alma’s been divining again?” Neria guesses.

“Yes and she says it will be an easy birth,” he says, removing the second tray of cakes as he pushes the first tray in with a new batch. “I hope she’s right.”

His eyes are dark with some sorrow that Neria does not know. “Ata,” she says, reaching out and gently laying her hand over one of his. “She’s not been wrong before.”

“There’s always room for error with scrying and divination,” he reminds her, fingers twitching under hers.

“Alma said she prayed to Azura for guidance though,” Neria persists.

Her father sighs, looking away towards the living room. “And Azura has not lead her astray thus far.”

“Yes,” Neria says firmly, clasping his hand. “And She will not.”

Her father glances back at her, sorrow easing into fondness in his eyes. “You’re very much like your mother, _hla valie_.”

“I am her daughter,” Neria says, smiling now that some measure of happiness has returned to her father’s face.

“That you are,” he says. “That you are.”

**Author's Note:**

> Early Christmas present, dear readers! Happy holidays to you all, and hopefully next year will be better for all of us!


End file.
